


Friday I have Monday on my mind

by loveinadoorway



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-07
Updated: 2011-08-07
Packaged: 2017-10-22 08:40:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveinadoorway/pseuds/loveinadoorway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Title: Friday I have Monday on my mind<br/>Pairing/Characters: Neal, Peter, El, Diana, Mozzie, Jones<br/>Genre: gen<br/>Rating: PG<br/>Word count: 425<br/>Warnings: none<br/>Spoilers: none<br/>Disclaimers: No harm intended, no profit made, yadda yadda. Title inspired by the Easybeats.<br/>Summary: Written for the<br/>Comment_fic prompt on LJ:<br/>White Collar, Neal(/Peter), most people don't spend the weekend looking forward to Monday. Mozzie says Neal's been domesticated but he'd be horrified to learn the truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friday I have Monday on my mind

It was hard on the weekends.  
From Friday evening to Monday morning, Neal goes back to prison. Okay, his cell has a two mile radius, but it is a cell all the same.  His mind was hurling itself against bars that only he could see and no amount of entertainment inside his radius was helping one bit.

So Neal was pacing his cell all day long on the weekends, from one border of the radius in a straight line across to the other end. Then he’d walk a bit along the radius, then cut across again. Repeat ad infinitum ad nauseam, or until his feet went on strike for blatant abuse and violation of federal rest time regulations.

He had done the same thing in his other prison cell, cot to toilet and back wall to bars and it didn’t matter that it took him more than three paces to get across these days. Neal knew a prison cell when he saw one and Manhattan was his.

On Sunday evening, he was standing on the roof terrace, a glass of wine between his elegant fingers, staring at the skyline, a low hum of excitement slowly building. Not long now, not long.

And the coming week would be great. There would be cases to solve and Neal would get to play. He’d get to con, grift, steal and consult – in no particular order and, truth be told, with no particular priority. All of it was fun, kept his overactive mind busy and his ever so slightly warped soul on track.

Then there would be the people. Jones and Diane, whom he could bait and almost all the time get away with it. Elizabeth might be by – and that always made his day. Peter. Peter, complex, dedicated, fixated, honest Peter with his whimsical sense of humor and his boyish fun whenever he got to bend the law just a teensy bit. Peter, who’d shoot him in a heartbeat if Neal EVER let on he’d noticed that last little factoid.

Neal went to bed on Sunday, wired and impatient. He always slept badly on Sunday night. Monday morning just couldn’t come fast enough.

On Monday morning, Peter’s arrival meant that the doors to his cell had opened and the world was waiting once more for Neal Caffrey, con man, grifter, thief and consultant to the F.B.I.

Mozzie would have a heart attack or burst an aneurism if ever he would find out that Neal started to wait for Monday morning the second he left the office on Friday.


End file.
